


Cost-Benefit Analysis

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...like a canon-compliant dark place but still, Episode Related, M/M, Suicide Attempt, episode 152 spoilers, out of character ending? Possibly. Do I care? No because soft monster boyfriends, please heed the tag jon is in a dark place for most of this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: How much are you willing to risk to maintain your humanity? How much of your humanity are you willing to risk for him?Quite a lot, if Jon's the only one getting hurt. Quite a lot, if Martin will stay.SPOILERS FOR MAG 152!!!





	Cost-Benefit Analysis

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I should up this to a Mature rating because of Jon's mental state.

"I'm fine, Basira." He braces his arms on the desk in an attempt to hide their shaking. 

Her eyebrows rise in skepticism. "So this is...?"

He sighs, sits -  _ collapses _ \- in the chair. "I'm just... just in the worst of it now. Withdrawal. Hopefully, it will pass soon, and I can be well on my way to recovery." It feels wrong to use addiction as a metaphor here, but he knows she will understand it, knows it will get her to stop worrying and asking questions. Indeed, her only response is to nod decisively.

"Good. Keep doing what you've been doing, then. And if you start to relapse-"

"I'll tell you."

Another nod, and she is gone. Jon puts his head to the desk, not even bothering to raise his arms to rest it on. He is tired. So tired. And it's only going to get worse.

~~~~~

Jon can feel himself fading away. The longer he goes without taking a statement, the more insubstantial he feels: brittle, unreal. His days are lost in a haze of exhaustion, his nights in bright and confusing fragments of dreams he once knew well.

If he doesn't take a statement soon, he is going to die. He knows this now - Helen's disbelief had seemed reasonable at first, but the longer he goes without one the more certain he becomes: this is true hunger, not addiction. True starvation, not withdrawal. If he doesn't feed himself soon, he will die.

So he will die.

It won't be long, now.

~~~~~

Helen was right, in the end. The choices made when the alternative is unthinkable can be of the sort that a version you from an earlier time would find utterly unacceptable.

Losing himself is unthinkable. Losing his compassion, his humanity, his ability to care about the people around him. And yet he cannot continue to be compassionate whilst also hurting others to feed himself. So he must stop. And if that means death... then death becomes - suddenly, out-of-the-blue, utterly baffling all previous thoughts and philosophies - an acceptable alternative.

It is his choice. He will not regret it.

~~~~~

Daisy suspects, he thinks. She gives him odd looks whenever he says he is getting better, and keeps telling him he needs to take care of himself. It's sweet, seeing how much she cares, but he won't follow her advice. He can't.

Basira and Melanie are proud of him, convinced he's beaten the monster. It's that which gives him the strength to keep going, put on a brave face and pretend he's not growing weaker by the minute, torn apart by a raging hunger nothing can satisfy. He likes seeing them smile. 

He's reading statements every spare moment he has, now. They don't help for long, providing a brief illusion of respite that's quickly followed by an emptiness greater than before.  _ Empty calories, _ he would joke, if he had anyone left he could joke with. As it is, he keeps the thought to himself, and reads.

~~~~~

It's moved past hunger now, past need. There is still an ache, an emptiness in his mind and his body yearning to be filled, but he no longer feels it. He is disconnected, drifting, distant - when his foot catches on a slight unevenness in the floorboards he does not even feel the fall, just blinks back to awareness staring at the underside of his desk. Part of his mind screams that now is his last chance, he  _ must  _ go and feed while he can still get himself out of the Archives to find a victim, he must or  _ he will die- _

He rolls over, and drags himself back to his feet. There is a statement left in his desk that he will read, and then perhaps he will have the energy to go talk to the others; he's been doing that a lot, recently. Paying attention. They really  _ don't  _ need his protection, he's found. The more he listens, the more they talk, the clearer that becomes. They've got it all under control. 

They don't need him at all.

~~~~~

Jon's mouth twitches into a small smile when he recalls a fact about cats that Georgie had shared with him, a long time ago.

When a cat is injured, or sick, or dying, it will often find a small, tight space in which to curl up in until the pain is gone. Many people think cats do this because they want to be alone, but Georgie had told him that wasn't true. They just want to feel safe. If a cat really trusts you, she'd said, they'll come to  _ you  _ instead, letting you care for them in their weakness. It's the ultimate sign of trust, that they feel safer with you than alone. The Admiral had mowed, then, and she'd lost her train of thought, but Jon had always remembered what she'd said. 

He wants to go to Martin. 

Failing that, he finds a small space in the gap between two bookshelves, pressed back against the wall of the Archives, and slowly slides to the floor, legs giving way beneath him. The world is fuzzy around him, and for a moment he doubts if he put his glasses on that morning. But a brief hand to his face confirms that, no, this isn't a problem that can be solved by the proper accoutrements. It's just him.

A tape recorder clicks on somewhere near; he gropes around blindly for a second before finding it by his right foot, and draws it to his chest like a child's favorite toy.

"Statement of..." The words feel heavy on his tongue, thick and numb. "Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding... regarding the death of the Archivist."

He leans his head on the nearest bookshelf, eyes slipping shut, and begins.

"Hey Daisy. Basira, Melanie. Sorry- sorry I lied to you. I didn't want you to worry." He coughs, a weak sound from a weaker body. "I needed to do this, and I wasn't sure- wasn't sure you'd actually let me follow through. Well," the faintest laugh. "I know you would have, Basira. I didn't want to put the others through that choice, though.

"I'm dying. I'm- I'm almost dead. Going without live statements, it's not- I've been starving, really and truly. It's fine, though. I chose this." He trails off for a second, losing his train of thought. It's so hard to focus in a world that is almost gone. "I'm starting to regret it, though. I didn't think I would, but that was when it was far away, when death was the last hurdle and not the thing staring me in the face. If I could take a statement now-

"You don't have to worry, though. I can't even stand up, let alone leave the Archives. This is... this is it, regrets or no. And before you start wondering, no, giving my own statement is not going to help. This is just- it's like chewing off your own fingers when you're dying of hunger. It'll never be enough to save you, and you're just doing a different type of harm."

The hiss of the tape recorder fills the silence. Jon curls farther in on himself. 

"So, I'm sorry. That you'll have to find me like this, and for- for everything. For all the harm that I've caused you, for dragging you all into this mess.

"And, since this is the last chance I'm going to get to say it: thank you. You've- you've kept me human, through friendship and threats, human enough that I can still make this choice... still make the right choice. Daisy, thank you for listening to my- my moping. For understanding. Basira, thank you for reminding me that I still have choices, and for holding me accountable for my actions. And Melanie... thank you for stopping. For being a jammed gear. For showing me that was possible.

"Goodbye, all of you. And... if you'll listen to a dying man's last request, could you get this tape to Martin, once you've listened to it? I... there's things I need to tell him, too."

The room is tilting dizzyingly around him; Jon lays down, or collapses - a bit of both, if he's honest with himself, sliding down the bookshelf until he can curl into a fetal position on the floor. His eyes have drifted shut, blocking out the world and all its pain. 

"Martin..." He's still clutching the tape recorder, holding it close to his mouth and whispering into it. "How are you? It's been... it's been a long time since I've seen you. I miss you. I'm sorry." His thoughts are jumbled, fragmented - logic has given way to stream-of-consciousness rambles. "Sorry that it's been a long time, and sorry that I miss you. Haven't really earned that right, have I? Spent so long pushing you away. But I miss you."

He sighs. "I know you're gone for a good reason, though. And I trust you, even if the others don't. I know- I know you'll do what you've set out to do, you'll stop the Extinction and- I  _ know  _ you will. And you'll go on to live a long and happy life, move past all this- all  _ this. _ Please move past all this. Don't let it hold you back. You can have- you deserve so much happiness, Martin. I know you can't leave now, but once you've done what you need to do, get out of here. Go- go see the world. Go find happiness."

A small, regretful smile twists around his lips. "Just know how glad I am to have met you. You- you're the best person I've ever known. The bravest, kindest, most  _ selfless  _ man I've ever met, and knowing you- it almost makes it all worth it, you know? If I could go back, never take a job at the Institute, change the course of history... I'm not sure if I would. Not if it meant I missed out on you." There is a rushing in his ears, ebbing and flowing, and he knows it is his own heartbeat. The rest of the world has faded away, leaving only him and his confessions. "I've lived a much shorter life than I thought I would, and a much darker one too, but... there's been so much good in it as well. Joy in the sorrow, friends in the nightmare, and... and you were the best part of it. Martin, you're the best friend I've ever known, my favorite person in the whole goddamn world, and- and since I'm never going to get a chance to say it again, you should know: I think I'm in love with you."

Jon takes a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out on the ghost of a laugh. "Yeah. I'm in love with you. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person. But- but at least now you know. So get out of here, Martin, as soon as you can. Don't look back. Go find all the joy this world has to offer, and- and I can die happy, knowing one of us is free." There's no strength left in Jon's fingers. The tape recorder clatters to the floor, falling away from his hand, and clicks off. "Statement ends."

He's not sure how long he lies there before he hears the footsteps. Time has begun to lose meaning, and it could be five seconds or five hours before those measured paces make their way up the aisle. They stop for a moment. Then they start again, quicker than before, and there is someone falling to their knees by Jon's head. 

"Jon? Jon, are you alright? Jon!" That rushing noise still fills his ears, and the voice is slightly muffled. But it is indisputably Martin's. 

Jon fights past the exhaustion and numbness to speak. "Martin?" It comes out in the faintest whisper.

A hand lands on his shoulder. "Yeah, it's me. Jon, what happened? Can you sit up? Are you hurt?"

"Dying..." He tries to open his eyes. A brief image of Martin kneeling beside him, worried frown on his face - then they slide shut again.

"You're  _ what?" _ A startled, shrill note to his voice. Jon doesn't like it. When Martin sounds like that, it means he's unhappy. He doesn't want Martin to be unhappy.

"S'okay, Martin. S'good. Means I won't hurt anyone again."

Martin ignores him. "Jon, tell me what happened. Do you need to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance."

"No..." If he keeps his eyes closed and doesn't move, he can focus enough to talk. That's good. He likes talking to Martin. "Did this to myself. Didn't take any statements. Starve the monster away. It's working, see?" In his head, he makes a broad, sweeping gesture, indicating his own weakened state. In reality, his fingers twitch. "Almost gone."

"You did this to  _ yourself?" _ There is a moment of shocking disorientation and movement. When it ends, he is resting on something soft and warm, with more warmth wrapped around his shoulders and against the back of his head. It takes him a moment to figure out: Martin has pulled him onto his lap. His arms are around Jon's shoulders, and one hand is running through his hair. "Jon, why would you stop reading statements? You know you need them." There's something broken in his voice.

"Not reading. Taking." He turns his head slightly, pressing his nose into the soft fabric of Martin's sweater. "Can't hurt people anymore."

"Oh." There is a still moment, nothing but the sound of their breathing to break the silence. Then Martin shifts again, and the tape recorder is being pressed into Jon's hand. "Take mine."

The words take a moment to sink in. When they do, Jon frowns. "No."

"Come on, Jon, we're not arguing this. Take my statement. Everything that happened when you were in the hospital, the Flesh and Peter and all that."

"I can't. I'm not- I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm offering, Jon." He says it like it makes any sort of difference.

_ "No. _ That'll just- just set me back, and I can't do this again. I can't." Jon's voice breaks. It's so tempting to take Martin up on his offer. Beyond simple self-preservation, he  _ wants  _ to know. And that's not just the Archivist - that's  _ him, _ aching to know what Martin's been through, wanting to be able to understand and help. With what little strength he has left he curls closer to him, drinking in his warmth and comfort. "Just let me go, Martin."

"I can't do that, Jon, I- Jon,  _ please. _ I can't- I can't watch you die again." 

"This is my choice."

"Jon,  _ please."  _ There is desperation and hopelessness in his voice, and  _ that  _ is what finally breaks him. The tape recorder clicks on again, and the words are out of his mouth before he even registers that he's saying them.

"Martin... what happened?"

Martin lets out a breath, curling down over Jon, still clutched tight in his arms. 

"Thank you," he breaths, and there is so much relief in his voice that all Jon's apprehensions and fears fly out of his head. All that matters is that Martin is here with him, that he is happy. 

Martin begins to speak, but Jon barely hears the words. They fade behind the rush of noise rising in his ears, behind the darkness rising in his mind, behind the comfort of Martin's arms around him. He drifts into unconsciousness, lulled by the soft voice of the man he loves.

~~~~~

When Jon wakes, he is warm and full and content. It takes him almost a minute to remember why this is a bad thing. 

His eyes flicker open, taking in his surroundings. He's lying on the cot in old document storage, a blanket tucked around his shoulders. Martin is lying across from him, face peaceful in sleep. Martin is on top of the covers, not under them - a small consideration that removes some of the intimacy of the situation, the act of a man who is not quite sure whether cuddling would be welcomed or not. 

He stirs as Jon watches, eyes drifting open and a small smile forming. "Hi, Jon."

"Martin..." Jon reaches out one hand, brushes it over his cheek. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Don't be." Martin reaches out as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I asked you to do it. I'm just glad I was in time."

"You should have let me die." There's no accusation in Jon's voice, just resignation. His hand falls from Martin's face.

Martin purses his lips. "I think you know me well enough by now to know I'd never allow that."

Tears prickle at the corners of Jon's eyes, and he nods. Martin's arm hooks farther around his shoulder, drawing him close, and he goes willingly, closing the distance between them and burying his face in Martin's chest.

After a moment, Martin speaks again. "Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to promise me something. I- I'm going to have to leave soon, keep trying to stop the Extinction, but while I'm gone, I need you to promise something." 

"I know." Jon had known this was coming, and hard as it will be, he is determined to follow through. "I won't take any more statements, Martin, I promise. This was just- just a setback, I won't hurt anyone else."

"No." Martin draws back a bit, frowning at Jon. "I need you to promise me that you  _ will  _ take statements." 

"What?" Jon frowns in turn, the warm contentment that's been buoying him since he woke up slipping away under a wash of confusion. "Martin, I can't do that."

"Yes, you can." Martin's voice is deadly serious. "Look, after I carried you back here I listened to the tape. To a  _ bunch  _ of tapes. I  _ know  _ it's a choice, Jon, and I need you to make a new one. I'm not going to save the world just for you to die in it."

"But- but I can't hurt people, Martin, I can't- I just can't live with the guilt anymore."

"Then stop feeling it. That's what Helen said, right? You can just... stop. So stop." Jon begins to protest, and Martin covers his mouth with a hand to silence him. "You're not going to lose yourself- you'll still be you. Look, when did you start caring about other people anyway? When we first joined the Archives you didn't gave a damn about the suffering of the people in the statements."

Jon pushes his hand away. "It's different when  _ I’m _ the one making them suffer. Besides, I thought you'd be the biggest supporter of me remaining as human as possible."

Martin shrugs. "Not if it means your death. Besides, plenty of so-called  _ humans  _ go around making people suffer all the time and don't feel guilty about it. And  _ they  _ aren't doing it to survive!"

"Martin-"

"Jon. I  _ can't  _ lose you, okay? Because- because I love you, too, and because if you die, there's nothing left for me to come back to."

Jon surges forward, kissing him fiercely. There's not much he can say in the face of an argument like that, except...

"I promise," he whispers it against Martin's lips, voice harsh. "If  _ you  _ promise that you  _ will  _ come back. I know what you're doing is dangerous, and I know how alluring the idea of being a martyr is, but  _ I  _ can't lose  _ you, _ either. I meant what I said about dying happy if you're free. Well, I won't live happy unless you're safe."

Martin blinks, rapidly, slightly stunned by the kiss. "B-but I'm trying to save the world, and if no one else has to get hurt-"

"You will save the world, Martin. And you will come back. Whatever it takes."

"Jon, you can't mean-"

"All I'm asking is what you're asking of me. Come back. Even if it means other people get hurt. If you promise me -  _ swear  _ to me - that you'll come back, then I'll make sure I'm still here for you to come back to. Whatever it takes."

Martin's eyes are wide, hands gripping Jon's forearms tightly, and they're still laying side-by-side in the small bed, discussing the fate of the world in a place eminently unsuited for it. Then Martin nods.

"You promise you'll still be here?"

"Unless I get caught by Basira. But I think I can avoid her."

"Then I promise I'll come back. Whatever it takes."

There is still fear in Martin's eyes - not of what's coming, but of what he is willing to do to survive it. Of what he is willing to ask Jon to do. Jon feels it too, but he won't let it deter him. Martin is right. He can move past the guilt - it will take a while, but he can learn. He  _ will  _ learn, because if he doesn't he won't survive, and he's made a promise to Martin.

He shifts forward, kissing Martin again. For  _ this  _ \- for the two of them to have a chance at happiness  _ together  _ \- there's not a lot he wouldn't be willing to do.

All too soon Martin pulls back, sighing against Jon's lips. "I have to go."

"I know." Jon strokes a finger across his cheek, trying to absorb the details of the moment. "When will I see you again?"

"I can't say." Martin turns his head, pressing a kiss to Jon's finger, and smiles. "But I think Peter's getting close to launching his plan. So soon."

"Good." One last, lingering kiss before they both rise, shaking off the soft warmth of the moment. Martin pauses by the doorway before he leaves, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

"You  _ will  _ still be here when I get back, right?"

"Probably not in this room, no. But I'll be waiting for you."

A smile twitches around Martin's lips. "See you soon, then, Jon."

"I'll keep an eye out for you."

Martin rolls his eyes, and shuts the door softly behind himself. Jon stands for a moment in the empty room, thinking. It really won't be that hard to get by Basira. Her guard's down since he's been so in control recently, and he really doesn't need more than a statement a month to keep himself healthy. It might get harder if that rate picks up, but... he can do this.

Its surprising, how easily the guilt is dismissed. Sure, he'll be hurting strangers, but he's doing it because he promised a friend - more than a friend, he's doing it for the man he loves. Can he really fault himself for that? 

Probably, yes, but he won't. And Martin will be coming back soon, coming back for  _ real. _

Jon is smiling when he leaves the room. All things considered, he's feeling rather hopeful about the future.


End file.
